Almost the weekend. Think I’ll do a little cycling. It’s been light past 9 p.m. I’m growing accustomed to taking nice walks just as the sun begins to set. I love summer. Terri and Allison, thanks so much for leaving your comments. I love knowing that I’m not alone out in cyberspace here. And my sweet friend, Patsy. Thanks so much for your private note. So great to hear from you.
As a kid, I enjoyed painting Paint-By-Numbers, although I generally didn’t do anything with them once I finished. Just thought painting them was about as close to being an artist that I’d ever get. My dad once painted a set of Mary and Joseph, and gave the framed set to his parents one Christmas. That same year, I think, I decided to paint one for my other grandma (my mom’s mom) of this winter scene. She hung it in her bedroom for years. I didn’t think it turned out that great but you know grandmas. And mine was the best. If her granddaughter decided to paint her a picture, far as she was concerned, it was worthy of a place of prominence.
My favorite part of painting was the first hour. I’d slip the white crisp canvas from the box and study it. Which color should I start with first? I’d stare back at the canvas and make my decision. Immediately I’d grow anxious. There just can’t be enough paint in those little tubs to paint all those parts, I’d tell my dad. I’m going to run out for sure. I just know it.
There’s enough paint, Gayle, he’d say.
Now there was one way I could run out and this happened more than once. I’d become too eager and continue painting after I should have stopped to allow the canvas to dry. Then I’d accidentally rest the side of my palm on the canvas and instantly smear what I’d just painted.
Drat. That’s why my dad would always remind me to begin in the center of the canvas. Then the risk of inadvertently resting my hand on wet paint was minimized—at least in theory.
Now I’d have to paint this part over. Surely, I won’t have enough paint now. I’d start to try and fix it right then. My parents would step in and say, “Put it away now.” They’d recognize my frustration escalating and knew if I continued then, surely I’d ruin the thing entirely. Better to start fresh the next day. Just so hard to leave a project when it’s looking its worst, I think.
I’m no Rembrandt so I really wasn’t striving for perfection when I painted these pictures. Still, I thought it a reasonable goal that my painting would resemble the cover on the box. Usually they turned out okay, though never as good as I wanted them to. With the one I painted for my grandma, I did in fact run out of the brown paint when I came to this one last branch. I’d messed up pretty bad. So, instead of a light dusting of snow on top, I had to paint the entire branch white. It looked funny and bugged me every time I visited her. But I tried to remember I was only around 12 or so. What should I expect? I’m glad she hung it. My grandma always made me feel treasured.
In Peter’s second epistle, he writes:
Grace and peace be multiplied to you in the knowledge of God and of Jesus our Lord, as His divine power has given to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who called us by glory and virtue, by which have been given to us exceedingly great and precious promises, that through these you may be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust. (2 Peter 1:3,4)
The manufacturer of the paint by numbers supplied just enough paint barring any catastrophes. So unlike God. Through Jesus Christ, God’s grace flows abundantly and He so willingly and joyfully supplies us with all we need for every area of my life.
Not a day goes by that I don’t “feel” like my “tub of paint will run out.” Sometimes I look at my resources and I think it “has run out.” Just like when I tried to paint the brown branch and had to improvise with white because no brown was left. I did run out.
As a Christian, God wants me thinking about His supply, though, not mine. He doesn’t even want me to rely on my tub of paint. He knows it’s pitifully small and the colors are dull. Won’t find much kindness, patience, love, good will in my tub of paint. Ah, but when I use His paints—His resources—there is ample.
When I am weak, He is strong.
“Grace and peace be multiplied to you.” Now I like the sound of that. God doesn’t just give me a little of His grace and peace. He multiplies it! Everything I need to live this day in a matter that will be God honouring and filled with peace and joy and gratitude are found in Him. And this has nothing to do with circumstances. It’s what’s happening on the inside of my heart that I’m talking about here. Not the outside.
Okay, I think I’ve stumbled on to an analogy with this paint by number thing that I could play around with all day. Suddenly so many Bible stories and verses come to mind. But I must get to work so I’m stopping here.
Take good care everybody and see you back on Monday.